


i will not break

by peachsneakers



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic DRLAMP - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, self-deprecating thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Roman's touch starved.
Relationships: DRLAMP
Comments: 25
Kudos: 302





	i will not break

**Author's Note:**

> for anon prompt: "anyways, could i request some angst with all the other sides finding out roman touch starved and him getting a big ole hug? i know youve already done some fics with touch starved roman but as i roman stan i constantly crave more 😂"

Roman sits on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by crumpled up balls of paper. His hands knot uselessly in his hair, tugging so hard bright divots of pain erupt all over his scalp, but he ignores it, trying desperately to force the tears threatening to fall in retreat.

Thomas is going to be so angry, he thinks dismally, curling tighter into a defensive ball. He hasn't come up with a good idea in nearly a week. He doesn't know why. Probably because he's a fraud. A bitter laugh escapes before he can stifle it. It sounds more like a sob.

The others have left him alone. He knows rationally that they're busy, too. That they probably think leaving him to his own devices is _good_ , that he _wants_ to be left alone to commune with his creative muse.

He wants nothing more than to be surrounded by them. Even his brother. He knows that this is going to start affecting Remus if he doesn't get his act together, and the thought terrifies him. He doesn't know if he can bear it if Remus knows that something is wrong. No one's supposed to know that Thomas's ego is so...well, bruised. Insufficient. Like a rotten apple core, mushy and disintegrating into the leafy detritus of a forest floor.

 _Think,_ he tells himself, finally uncurling enough to pull a notepad and fresh pencil toward himself. He prays for divine inspiration, for _something_ to trickle in, no matter how infinitesimal. Nothing. The blank page glares up at him, mocking him with its pristine state. He drops the pencil on the carpet before he can succumb to the urge to stab his fingers on it. It won't help.

 _Worthless excuse of a prince,_ Roman berates himself, wrapping his arms around bent knees. He's touch starved as well. He knows that. He watches the others interact, brushing shoulders in the hallway, sidelong hugs in the kitchen. But he's too loud, too bombastic, too _much_ , and oh, how he wishes he knew how to turn it off.

A knock on the door makes him freeze, looking around with hopeless eyes. His room is a mess and he knows he doesn't look much better. He locked himself into his room last night and if the clock on the wall is right, it's nearly dinner. He's missed breakfast and lunch.

"Roman?" Virgil calls through the door. His voice is raspy with worry, and Roman feels a shard of guilt lodge itself in his stomach. Virgil shouldn't have to worry about _him_. He's the one who's supposed to keep it all together. His throat tightens and he forces the tears back even harsher. "Roman, open the door," Virgil demands. Tempest Tongue shades his words and Roman winces. It's enough to shove him upward though, and he shambles toward the door on unsteady feet, finally unlocking it and pulling it open a crack. Virgil recoils before he collects himself and Roman tries to let the hurt roll off, like water down the back of the proverbial duck. It doesn't work.

"Ro, you look like shit," Virgil says bluntly. "Everyone's worried about you. You didn't come down for breakfast or lunch-"

"Merely pursuing the creative dream," Roman assures him breezily. "I lost track of time, I'm afraid."

"You look like you haven't slept in a week," Virgil points out. "And I promise you, you aren't hiding as much about your room as you think you are. You aren't _that_ big, dude." Roman blanches as Virgil sighs.

"Please, Ro?" He asks.

"I-" Roman swallows thickly. His vision blurs and he scrubs at his eyes roughly with one hand. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Virgil asks in confusion. Behind him, Roman can see the others, all drawn by the sound of their confrontation. Even his brother leans against the wall, shooting him a concerned look.

"I'm a fraud," Roman whispers. "I- I haven't thought of any new ideas in a week. Thomas needs me and all I'm doing- all I ever do- is letting him down."

"You are not," Virgil says sharply. "Thomas will understand, Ro. Sometimes the creative juices just aren't flowing." He shrugs. "It happens."

"Yes, but not to _me_ ," Roman snaps, running a hand through already rumpled hair. "I'm sorry," he says, an abashed moment later. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Virgil says steadily.

"Cognitive distortions," Logan says in a quiet voice. "Based on prior difficulties with each of us, you can predict that Thomas will not react poorly to the news that you are suffering from creative block, Roman. It happens to everyone sooner or later."

"Even me," Remus pipes up. Roman looks surprised at him.

"It's true," Deceit confirms. "You aren't the only one, Roman."

"I-" Roman's eyes fill with tears again.

"You can cry, Ro," Patton encourages. "It's okay to cry."

"I just-" Roman stops, taking a deep breath.

"Take your time," Logan says. "What do you need, Roman?" Roman looks up at all of them, standing crowded in the hallway, and laughs a little shakily.

"A hug?" He says in a tiny voice. "Is that- is that okay?"

Patton surges forward, flinging his arms around Roman's waist.

"Always," he says firmly. Roman melts into the hug, even as Logan's arms come stiffly around him, followed by multiple pairs of Deceit's arms, Virgil's awkward side hug, and Remus's octopus tentacles dripping green ooze down his white shirt. He can't make himself care as tears spill down his cheeks.

"How do you feel about movie night?" Patton asks, his voice muffled by Roman's shirt. "Blanket fort in the living room, and all the cuddles you could ever ask for." A tremulous smile creeps across Roman's face.

"I'd love that," he says.


End file.
